


From The Ground Up

by Bugsandburners



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Explicit Language, No Smut, Serial Killers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugsandburners/pseuds/Bugsandburners
Summary: Governed by a man more concerned with supposed organized crime to care about the serial killer that continues to plague the town, The Wharf was doing a good enough job on its own self destructing. The last thing it needed was the five fools to get themselves tangled in the middle of the mess. And yet here we are.
Relationships: Katherine/Sylnan Vengolor, Oriana/Taxi (Just Roll With It)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. The Black Spot

At first glance he looked like he was well put together. It was all in the way he walked. He held his head up high and kept his posture proper. Each step he took was pre-planned and perfectly placed. He never once missed a beat. Delicate. Dignified. Debonair. He just about danced everywhere he went. The grace he haunted the earth with was one that not even the stealthiest of street cats could so much as dream to replicate. Even at his clumsiest he could tread across a floor covered in broken glass and never make a sound. 

Completing the look was a new shirt, black and tight, leaving only a sliver of his abdomen exposed before unwrinkled and perfectly fitted jeans ruined the teasing display of skin. A cocky grin pinched his cheeks and playful winks kept the girls coming back, kept the drinks flowing his way. And in the rapid flash of the neon light the bags under his eyes vanished. His cheeks weren't nearly as sunken as they were in the daylight. The loud speakers blasting the latest hits at top volume drowned out the hesitant tremble in his voice as he spoke. 

He was quite the catch. The bell of the ball, the cream of the crop, whatever you want to call it. A face like his wasn't easy to forget and yet impossible to recollect in the dead of night when blissful dreams came to take you away. He was strangely intoxicating, from the fluidity of his hips to the low chuckle that would rumble past his lips. There was hope in those who watched him that he'd wander over their way and let them get a second hand taste of what he'd just been drinking. Maybe offer to buy him another round, see if he'd like to stick around long enough to call a cab, decide on the way who's place in which they'd stay and pray he'd still be there in the morning after. If not tonight there was always next week. Through hell or high water he would always be back next week. This place was an addiction to him and they hoped they could be his next blissful fix that he couldn't quite quit. And the way he glitzed about the club kept those hopes high as he moved from partner to partner with the blink of an eye to no fault of his own. 

That was the nature of the game he played; plucking the desperate hearts of potential lovers like the strings on the lyre.

Not once did he have a moment to step back and breathe. Girls that gathered on the dance floor would eagerly pull him back out into the writhing mess of scantily clad and less than lucid bodies. It wasn't long before the world around him began to blur and every face he saw was a blend of the last and the next. Names came and went and none of them stuck. Was he the one dancing or the world around him? He couldn't tell any more. He didn't know whose hands were in his hair, tilting his head back with another shot glass pressed to his partially parted lips tempting him to ease the drink back. Surely they didn't belong to the same person letting their hands roam around his chest, or rest on his hips or cling to his bicep. The mind was gone from him, his body willing, he kept going. 

His hands were every bit as fleet as his feet. They moved seamlessly from hip to hip, never daring to go an inch below the waist or wander above the ribs, glazing skin and fabric with a touch so gentle it was almost completely phantom. His lips never once met those of another. He was dizzy and hot but his wits remained about him enough to know this wasn't where he wanted to be, the girl in his arms wasn't who he wanted them to be, that she never could be, and that he wasn't ready to let this particular ghost go for the hopes that she'd haunt him again, guiltlessly. The company he'd keep wasn't why he was at The Black Spot regardless. He couldn't have cared less for it. 

The endless river of willing girls were, more or less, an alibi. He had their numbers written sloppily along the length of his arm, their lipstick smeared along his neck, collar bone, cheeks, jaw, and he had the colliding colors of the black and blue bruises from the jealous boyfriends who came to confront him. Sylnan had half a dozen witnesses all more than happy to say that the boy couldn't possibly have been looting through that girl's purse because he was too busy dancing up on someone else. Ugarth, the bouncer, could always vouch. He just threw the boyfriend out for getting violent with him, he couldn't possibly have been the one to swipe the wallet. And as the bouncer turned to leave he'd mysteriously have a card or two in his back pocket to add to his rapidly growing collection. Whenever a hand-bag went missing, Sylnan would be by the bathrooms, too far to have been the culprit. Cash gone from a jacket pocket? Must have dropped it. After all, Sylnan had been lost to a circling crowd of vultures all impatiently waiting for their turn and on the verge of jumping in unwelcomed. Phone gone too? Couldn't have been the boy by the bar unable to refuse his fifth drink. 

To the untrained eye, he was doing great. Better than great. He's built himself from the ground up and by the gods how he towered! 

Sylnan took a seat at the bar with a huff. He was drunk, he knew that well enough, but not drunk enough to slow him down or blur his judgment. He offered Tristan an honest smile.

"Can I get a pitcher of water?" 

"Calling it a night already?"

Tristan happily set down the requested drink. He leaned against the counter. He'd known the boy for years. Though only as a regular and friendly face. He knew that Sylnan and Ugarth played the club like it was a game, hunting drunk enough victims to rob blind without worry. He knew that every card Sylnan paid with wasn't his. He knew that five years ago he'd been too young to be drinking but Tristan served him anyway. Truth of the matter was he was in on it too. 

Sylnan, whether he was ready to admit it or not, was the star of the show and a small celebrity known only to these four walls. People bought him before they bought anything else. He brought in a bustling crowd every night he came around. That meant more drinks to serve, more drunks to rob. Tristan got 26% of the boys' profits for his silence. In return he'd help pick out their next targets, either by slyly calling Ugarth over to handle another unruly gentleman who just so happened to have left his money clip on the counter to refilling the party at table six's drinks and claiming they were sent by Sylnan as an invitation to join in on the dancing. The drinks were of course not at all paid for and Sylnan had not sent them, but every party involved was more than happy with the arrangement especially when Sylnan returned to the bar with two or three more iPhones. Jaquot would then unlock those for them later in the week, keeping half of however much they resold for. It was only fair of course. He didn't know what to call what their shenanagin was. He just knew that he liked their game.

The first Fridays of the month were usually their busiest nights, everyone would flock with their nice new paychecks and the club would host deals. Ladies get in free, the whole club would run a 10% off all drinks before 10 deal well aware that the clocks were five minutes fast. Typically Sylnan would stay until the club closed, stealing a ride home from Ugarth. It was, more or less, odd for him to call it quits so early in the work day. 

"You sent over the horny girls! They're getting grabby."

"Scared of a few thots now are we?"

"You're not? And you've been a bar-tender for how long again?"

"It's still so early!" He said through soft laughter "Where you headed instead then?"

Sylnan slid a wad of large bills over to Tristan with an annoyed sigh, "Rings. Tell Ugarth I'll be at the Jenny's Market off of i20 please? Tell him I still have his cut."

"Worried he's just going to leave you out all night again?"

"Ass hole thinks he's so fucking funny." 

With that he downed the provided water and turned to leave, disappearing once more for the night much to the dismay of the group of people he'd promised to come back to. 

In the cold, orange, lamp light glow, Sylnan was not as charming and as enchanting as he was inside. The illusion he'd put on shattered almost instantly. Never had a more tired man walked the earth. The sly street cat he'd been inside had died and in the wake of it's passing shadow now trudged a haggard shell of a man, liable to bite and sure to run. His hand fiddled about inside his front pocket where his box cutter hid. It wasn't hardly half the knife he would have preferred to have but a blade was a blade and that was all he really needed.

The Queen, the graveyard just south of Lauck Lambert Highschool, had found itself accumulating more occupants. The news stations' missing persons announcements had become somewhat of a recurring segment much like the weather. The list of names had cut into sports. Yet of the current fifty seven currently missing, only nine bodies had been recovered. Only nine bodies went to The Queen. Sylnan doubted he'd be a prime target for the roaming serial killer, but should he get jumped at least, he wanted to make sure that he wouldn't be the one to end up unaccounted for or thrown away, lost to miles of land that The Queen hoarded.

To ease his nerves he told himself that there in the dark he found no need to be scared. He was every bit as dangerous as the next son of a bitch that dared step up on to him. Instinct would keep him alive, surely. Despite this montra, the fear that kept his eyes darting from shadow to shadow was amplified by the rapid thudding of his heart, the echo of which caught itself along the decaying walls of the buildings around him, growing louder and louder with every quiet passing second. 

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he was terrified. It was evident in his quick pace, the stutter in his pulse, and how his head would snap in the direction of every new sound. He was too drunk to be out and about like this. His senses were dulled and he'd be next to useless in a fight. And yet at the exact same time he was too sober to be out and about like this. Anything to calm his nerves, right? 

Sylnan was far, far from put together and anyone who so much as caught a passing glimpse of him could see that much.


	2. Jenny's Market

Mountain refused to admit that he was lost. 

He was usually lost, though not in the same way that he was now. No town was home enough for him anymore. He'd hear her voice in the passing strangers on the bus, see a flash of her hair in the store. Then there was the smell of smoke. The memories never left him and the town's he sped through did nothing less than constantly remind him of what he'd lost and what he'd never have again. For the longest time he would chase after them all, those memories buried in new and strange places, desperate to feel the warmth that they had once brought to him so very long ago. As the years passed, however, the hunt for those blips to better times became too painful to continue. It took him twelve years to wake up and return to the present reality and when his head finally cleared he discovered that he had nothing to return to. Only his crappy black and purple Scion and the open road. 

These days he found himself keeping busy by replacing his own pain with the agony of others. Growing up he never dreamed that he'd live the remainder of his life drifting from motel to motel armed with his busted old laptop that took half an hour to boot up and a collection of fake press badges. He never was much of a writer before this all happened, still didn't think of himself as one despite his weekly column and the comfortable paycheck he received every month for it. Journalism was more or less a joke to him. One that he wasn't laughing at so much anymore now that it paid the bills. 

He never meant to get into this line of work. He had been happy in his bar, where the worst things he had to deal with were the disorderly drunks and the unpaid tabs. He just wanted to know who started the fire. Now he was ages away from any familiarity in his cramped piece of shit car headed for the Wharf to follow a nearly five year old active serial killer case. 

Three days ago, when his publisher had mentioned it in passing conversation it sounded like a good idea. Well no. It sounded like good press at least, a nice juicy story sure to draw in an alarming number of readers. True crime was very popular at the moment, this story would sell regardless on how close he got to solving anything. Two days ago he figured he might be stepping into something too big to handle on his own. What did he think he could accomplish that the local PD hadn't in five years? The day before, he'd regretted ever getting in the car. Now he was too far to turn back. 

This was fine, he reasoned with himself. He wasn't actually going to try and solve it. He wasn't a detective. He'd be a pretty shitty one if he were, he knew that. All he needed was some interesting rumors and startling numbers really. Just a general summary of the Maniac at large. That was good. He should use that. No, that was stupid. He could do better than that. Maniac. This man hadn't been caught for five years, which meant he was calculated. Almost ghost like. He butchered his victims with a barber's blade. Now that was good. People loved a simple but violent descriptor. The Butchering Barber of the Wharf? The West Wharf Barber? No, The Barber would do just fine. Short and concise and slightly misleading. He liked it. Things like that, he argued with the doubt that kept him itching to turn back around, an over dramatic retelling of what the people already know was all he was looking for, nothing more nothing less. It would be a quick and easy job. Nothing but proffit. Begrudgingly, he kept driving. He was a fool but not foolish enough to argue with the sound logic he himself had provided to justify this trip. It was an easy job and it would pay well. 

Regardless of his hesitation, he was still lost. His publisher had urged him to replace the out dated GPS system he had hooked up in his car with something more modern.

"There are these things called phones you know," she'd said, "they all have this really neat app preinstalled called maps. You just type in the address of where you need to go and it, get this, tells you. Mine lets me know about traffic, and police cars along the way even." 

Mountain had laughed at her. He had a phone. It folded up and wasn't touch-screen but he had a phone. It took calls and it sent texts. That was all he needed. He didn't need the candy crushing or faced books or emojis or whatever the hell kids these days liked. He wasn't about to spend over eight hundred on a phone. He wasn't crazy. 

However Hera had a point sometimes and once more Mountain kicked himself for not listening to her. He didn't know how, but she knew everything. She was always right. And she was right yet again as the exit Mountain needed had been closed for construction, his GPS system had no data for the detour that had recently been set up and he was forced to guess and whisper a prayer that he'd chosen correctly. Evidentially he hadn't. He should have reached Twin Point Palace three hours ago and yet somehow he was still stuck in this endless stretch of highway with no end in sight.

It was hardly his fault. The streets he drove on were poorly lit and his front right headlight was dying on him. He'd been running on empty for a good seven minutes now, if he pushed the old lemon any harder he was sure it would sputter to a stop and he'd be stuck walking. Thank the gods there was a gas station not too terribly far up ahead. He'd refill, maybe take a quick piss and buy a snack and head back out. He'd make the much needed U turn, blame this all on Hera somehow, and he'd be fine. 

The road was less of a road and more of a crater. It was all one big pot hole with a bunch of smaller pot holes scattered about. His car rattled and shuddered as it drove with a nasty clatter. Every street sign he passed was vandalized. A 30mph sign had been sloppily repainted to read 80mph. Big, looping and blocky letters covered up every stop sign he passed. Streets were missing their titles, making it impossible for him to figure out where he was even with the help of his lagging gps system. The town was wartorn. Every intersection had a panhandler, scraggly and desperate with a water washed cardboard sign no longer readable. Every other building was closed, their windows boarded up and tagged, the paint peeling, and the words For Lease plastered to the front doors. There was no grass. All the trees were bare. Needles lined the gutters, tangled with the broken glass of emptied beer bottles. Agony held the city hostage and every soul he saw was a struggling casualty. He saw maybe two hotels along this stretch of road and neither of them looked in any way shape or form hospitable. Police tape blocked off the stairs leading up to the second and third floor for The Nest and Circling Dove had half of a tree put through its roof. 

Maybe he'd forgo the snack and piss break. At least until he got into a better part of town. If there was such a thing. 

The Jenny's Market remained to be one of the few buildings untouched by stray paint. All of it's windows were well intact. It stood to be a shining beacon in this miserable and morose place. He pulled up slowly to the first terminal just glad for the break in all the dread. Above him was the faint crackle of music struggling to get past the busted speakers strung up along the corners of the overhang. He was unable to make out what it was they were playing. It sounded bad whatever it was. Music these days was nothing like what it was back then he supposed. It wasn't long before it began to fade out in his head and his ears began to pick up on the other sounds around him. The rush of passing cars, the wet splatter of an employee emptying out her mop bucket. The wailing of sirens off in the distance. And then a soft, desperate, and pleading voice.

"-Just for tonight at least." That was all he caught of the conversation he'd tuned in to against his own will. He looked about, curious and nosy. It was hardly his fault of course. His line of work demanded it of him and he'd grown accustomed to getting into other's business unwelcomed. He couldn't help it anymore. It was as instinctual to him as breathing and blinking. 

Standing over by the far terminal was a man of average height. He looked exhausted. His hair was a mess tossed this way and that by the wind and lazily brushed back out of his eyes. His clothes were disheveled, neat and new but a mess nevertheless. Bruises just started to form along his arms and jaw from a recent beating. He was shivering with no jacket in sight. Mountain found that a little bit odd, it was evening sure, but summer, however late in the season it was, in the wharf was hot regardless of the time of day. Mountain had been stuck here for perhaps an hour at most and already he knew this much. It was warm enough for a tank top and shorts and still this man trembled as though he were caught in a terrible snow storm in the dead of winter and was standing on death's door asking to be let in. The woman he was talking to looked sad. No it wasn't sorrow on her face but pity.

The boy fumbled about, the grief on his face only growing. Finally his eyes settled on his hand and he stilled. Hesitantly he pulled a ring off from around his finger and immediately tears began to fall down his cheeks.

"This….it isn't much but I...," he began, his voice dying before he could utter another word. The woman looked as if she too was about to burst into tears right along with him. She rushed to pull out her wallet and from it she plucked two twenty dollar bills and handed it over quickly. He croaked out a small thank you and handed over the small golden ring. Without saying a word she handed it back. She flashed him a warm smile before getting back into her car and driving off. Mountain watched her go before returning his eyes back to the boy who sighed deeply and returned the ring to his finger, slipping the cash into his back pocket. Mountain could have sworn he caught the sudden flicker of a smile on the boy's face. 

Mountain dismissed it at first. Perhaps the boy was pleased he was able to keep his ring that he'd been so distraught to give up. But the emotion behind his eyes told a different story.

"Hey buddy!" He shouted before he had time to tell his own brain that he didn't know this boy and that he had no reason to be bothering him. 

The boy flinched before turning to face him. For a moment he looked terrified. Mountain pretended not to notice how quickly the boy's hand fell to his pocket. He was armed. That was probably standard in a place like this. 

He put his hands up to show that he meant no harm and didn't mean to startle him, "Do you need a ride?"

Regardless of how desperate this boy was, Mountain knew he'd say no. The way he shuffled a little further away said it all. 

"Do I know you?" He asked. 

An excellent question! It always pleased Mountain when he found people who knew how to ask the right questions. More often than not, it was the questions that gave him more answers than actual answers. 

"That depends. Do you read any newspapers?'

"Are you in them?"

Mountain chuckled to himself. So many accusations in so few words. "You could say that I am. I write for a few of them." 

The boy looked away, his hand easing back out of his pocket back out into view. That was good too, Mountain decided. The boy had sense enough about him to read the situation at hand. Mountain was no threat to him. Annoying at most. He offered a smile to try and cement that fact. To his delight it worked. The boy visibly relaxed a bit flashing a polite grin back. 

"So do you need a ride?" 

"No I have one not too far, I just needed gas. My roommate is waiting." 

The line was rehearsed, well practiced, he must have said it a thousand times before it flowed so flawlessly from his lips and yet without really being able to tell why, Mountain knew that the boy was lying. Perhaps it was how he glanced back over his shoulder towards the road with a look of doubt. There was some Merritt behind his words, just not the weight he needed for them to be as convincing as they should have been. 

"You were willing to sell your ring for some gas?"

"In this neighborhood? Yes." That was not a lie. "It's a ring. In time it can be replaced. It just sucks losing something with so many memories attached to it, you know?"

Mountain shuffled from foot to foot. God how he knew. His own thumb fell to his left ring finger where his white gold band still rested. When he shut his eyes he could recall with perfect clarity her hands shaking as she slipped it into place for the first and last time. It had made him cry because his hands held the same joyous tremble. To this day he couldn't believe that she'd ever said yes, that she'd ever been so excited to wear a dress, to throw on a show for her family. But she'd been happy, truly happy, and she wanted to show everyone who it was who had helped to make her so happy. When he had been buried in hospital bills and fees for the lawyer he'd sold just about everything he owned to keep him afloat. Everything save of course for his ring. Gods above how he knew what this stranger implied. 

His mind was a wreck. He didn't need to know anything about this boy. He really should just leave him be. And yet! And yet, he was intrigued. He didn't find too many souls every bit as lost as he. Lying just as hard. Lies hide much more than the truth and more often than not give away much much more. A thousand questions bubbled at the tip of his tongue and he fought to keep them all back. He didn't know this man, he had no right to know. 

"Fair enough. Tell you what, I'll pay you the rest of what you need if you pay me in anything you've heard about the 'Barber' butchering the folks around here." 

"Is that what they're calling him?" The man sighed, running a hand over a budding bruise on his arm as he collected his thoughts. "I don't know much. No one's been able to describe him to the cops, he hasn't let anyone survive. Well no. The numbers are off between those found dead and those still missing. So we're pretty sure he's keeping some survivors. No one's been able to figure out why he kills and what he does with those he keeps. But he's been busy, recently. He's killing more and taking more. All violent crime has gone up though, and the PD and the investigators are all overwhelmed with bodies that they can't tell who was killed by the...the barber as you called him, or by someone else." He stared off into the middle distance, his face twisted in hesitant thought, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. His hand fell back to his side and he gave a slight shrug. 

"That's all I know." 

If Mountain had a dime for every time he'd heard that, he'd be able to replace his stupid piece of shit car with something that didn't break down every twenty five miles and have enough left over to pay off the rest of his debts. Everyone who said "that's all I know" always knew more and just didn't want to say it. Usually because they were guilty of something in some way or another. Unfortunately the only way Mountain would be able to get anything more on this was if he paid more or began following the man. He didn't exactly feel like doing either at the moment. He could use what little the man had said. 

"He's keeping victims?" 

"Either that or we haven't found the bodies yet. He hasn't exactly been shy about that though. He doesn't go out of his way to hide them or anything."

"And the local forces have no leads on this case?"

"They…. seem to be a bit busy worrying about some stupid kingpin and his petty gang activities. The mayor is insistent that we crack down on that first and foremost."

Mountain fumbled for his note pad. Not able to find it he settled for the underside of his forearm. He did his best to keep the boy's words repeating in his head as he jot down sloppy notes, hoping to god that under better light he'd be able to read them lest he forget. He'd been given enough to get started, enough to build off of for sure. A neglectful mayor, gang activity, and a serial killer. This place was a hodgepodge of bullshit but it made for good media. 

He mulled over his head line a bit. He struggled to find a way to mangle those three key points together in a way that fit but nothing worked. It was all too wordy or didn't set the mood just right. He had time yet, he'd figure it out later. For now he was happy to reach into his own pocket and pull from it his own small stash of cash. He hesitated for a moment. He never did ask how much the man needed. Asking now he'd surely be told something bonkers. Like fifty. Gas prices were high right now but he just saw this man get forty. Who needs 90 dollars for gas? Well then again. Before he could even register it, he'd forked over another forty, that being the last number in his head. 

The boy took it gracefully with a soft "Thank you" before slipping the bills into his pocket. "Good luck on your newspaper article," he said, hoping he sounded friendly enough. Mountain nodded, hoping that for once the luck would actually come his way. 

"Good luck getting home." 

With that Mountain piled back into his car. For a second the old and tired thing didn't want to start. It grumbled at him in its defiance. It wanted to sleep every bit as badly as it's driver. At last it gave in and coughed to life. He peeled out of the driveway. The last he saw of the man was his turning to head inside the market stopping to speak with another man who'd just walked up.


	3. Chapter Three Station Gate E

Every professor at GreenValley University could proudly say that Velrisa Greyrock was a prodigy. She had talent, she had gumption, she had the spirit! There was all of this talk about her potential and what she'd do after graduating. It wouldn't be long now for that. twenty years old and one semester away from her dictorates. She'd submitted her thesis paper late last night. Now all she had to do was wait. They really did enjoy having her in school. She made them all look good. A valedictorian with a 4.0 GPA who graduated from highschool well before the rest of her peers and all but raced her way through her course studies. She'd have her name carved in a golden plaque to be hung on the wall for sure. The pride and joy of GreenValley University. 

Velrisa, on the other hand, hated it. She had always despised school. She never was able to fit in. The adults loved her, always did. She was well behaved and studied hard. She had not a single friend to her name. She'd been told over and over that college would change that. It hadn't. Her uncle, kind as he was, had long since fallen out of the social side of things he had no idea how to help but for some reason that didn't stop him from trying. 

"You should go to the bar!" He'd recommend, forgetting for the third time that day that she was not of the legal age to drink just yet. "Maybe you'll meet someone at the library." A place where it was expected and customary to remain silent so that others may work in peace. "Just get out there and talk to people!" She almost laughed at that. 

When was the last time some stranger off the street began talking to you and the two of you became friends? When? Name one time since grade school. She wanted to rip her own hair out at the thought. 

She stared at her cracked phone with growing disinterest at the "where are you" text Ander sent about fourteen minutes ago. He would send such a message about once every other hour. It made her laugh a little, seeing how much he cared. She was twenty god damn years old and still, like the first time parent he was, he'd go out of his way to make sure she was safe. She could go anywhere and not tell him, so long as she told him she was safe. He knew she was capable and she was intelligent and she could very well handle herself now, she was an adult. She had a life all her own. But, as he had told her every day for the last nineteen years, she would always be his little girl. 

"At the Light Rail," she finally responded, "going exploring. Back by Tuesday."

"Have fun!" 

She pocketed her phone. It was Friday night, she had no school for three days and four hundred dollars in cash at her ready disposal plus her credit card. That meant she had three days, four hundred dollars, and a credit card to get into all the trouble she could find. 

She was good at many things, baseball, heavy lifting, understanding theology, dissecting things, and most of all finding trouble. Very rarely did it find her, she had no issue finding it. It was almost a sport to her. How much could she get into and still get out of? How much could she get into without Ander knowing? The answer was a lot and now she had three days to play her little game to her heart's content. 

She'd pulled up google some nights ago and faster than she intended she searched for "highest crime rate". There was no surprise when cities nearby began popping up. They were close enough to offer her the comfort of a quick retreat should she need it but she was feeling confident. She didn't want a safety net. She wanted chaos. She squinted at the Wharf at first. Grungy, dingy, and just about abandoned. The mayor was a piece of work, she knew that. He liked to call himself the king. That made her laugh for nine minutes straight. She almost fainted. King of what? Since his election the crime rate was up by .67%, unemployment was at an all time high, and the deaths continued to climb. Nothing had been done under his watch. Nothing good anyway. They had a serial killer now so that was cool. And that was what really drove the nail home. This town was trouble! That was exactly what she was looking for. 

Velrisa had grown tired of hearing about her potential. That's all anyone ever talked about. She could do such great things and she was sure to get a good paying job and live comfortably for the rest of her life. Then they scolded her when she told them what she was hoping to do with herself. A coroner?! They'd shriek. It's so...and then they'd say something stupid like unlady like, or a waste of her talents, or what ever. They'd try to guide her back to what they thought was the "correct" path. Like a nurse. Or a teacher. Or gynecologist. They'd considered her future for her already, they'd decided where she'd best fit and where her potential would be best put to work. What they hadn't considered was her potential to divert from that course completely out of spite. Velrisa was a good girl, who went to church regularly, said her prayers daily, treated others fair, but she was not immune to the need to have a pretty good time. 

She almost didn't even register her own satchel at her hip. It weighed a thousand times lighter without her books, laptop, and pencil case. As long as she remembered to put them all back before class on wednesday she'd be alright but none of that was needed for these next three days, just the bag and the space it provided. She didn't know what exactly for yet but she already knew she needed it. All she had inside it was her first aid kit, that she never left the house without no thanks to Ander's whining, and her phone charger. The bare essentials. Her wallet was tucked away neatly in the front pocket on her cover all's shorts. 

She put a solitary ear bud in, well aware that nothing was playing. That was the point. She liked the disguise of listening to music so that people were less likely to talk to her while still being completely and totally conscious of the world around her. Not a sniffle escaped her attention. She stood at the train terminal, excited for her journey and giddy about what kind of shenanigans she'd get into. 

Besides her approached a boy perhaps only a little older than herself worrying his sleeve with an ever growing frown on his face. She pretended not to notice how often his eyes would flash her way nor could she dismiss the childlike look of hope that he had the first time that had melted rather rapidly into deviated disappointment. He was unable to stand still, swaying from foot to foot. He muttered something to himself, squinting at the Station Gate E sign posted two feet from where he stood. Quickly he untangled a poorly folded map out of his hoodie pocket and proceeded to squint at that, flipping it up right and then hurriedly folding it every bit as poorly as before and stuffing it away yet again. 

"Uh, excuse me?" He asked softly, stopping once he saw the ear bud. His face ran a hot pink, something she couldn't see due to the overwhelming amount of fur it was hidden behind, and turned away, pulling at a loose string and cursing when the seam came undone. Velrisa made a show of removing her headphone and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Oh! Oh sorry I...uh stupid question but what time….is this… this goes to the Wharf right? West to the-"

"Yes this one does go down to the wharf and-" she pointed up towards the electronic board to their right a little ways "- it'll be here in three minutes." 

The boy looked up and he was almost certain that she'd be able to see how red he became. No amount of fur could hide that. It did, but the swishing of his tail gave him away regardless.

"Oh. Thank you. Sorry." And he said sorry about nine more times before shuffling ever so awkwardly away but not too far. 

The hiss of the light rail train's breaks startled the poor man half out of his own skin. Velrisa lost sight of him then, boarding quickly and taking a seat between the doors. She liked them, they allowed her to hear absolutely everything within the car. Every one sided phone call, giggled conversation between friends, everything. Slowly people began filing in past her, each and every individual desperate to find a seat with as few people as they could. Quickly that became difficult to do. The boy, nervous and more afraid of the man with the wild hair than of the purple woman with horns, took a hastey seat across from her having found nowhere else to go. The doors hissed shut but not before a man between their ages squeezed himself through. Well most of him. His longer blond hair snagged and yanked him back a bit. He began to rush through the car when the train began to move and he fell all but gracelessly into the seat besides the cat who just barely managed to dive out of the way in time.

Velrisa, glancing at the two in front of her, deciding then not to put the ear bud back into place. It would have done her no good anyway. She couldn't very well explain it. Maybe it was the goofy grin that the blond had on, or the way the Tabaxi stuttered his needless apologies that told her what ever the fuck was going on in the rest of the train wasn't going to be anywhere near as interesting. Her suspicions were confirmed when the man was completely oblivious to Vel's portrayed disinterest and the Tabaxi's obvious desire to be left alone.

"Gods, I'd hate to see rush hour, huh?" The cat squirmed a bit, inching ever closer to the window hoping against all hopes that the man would get the hint and leave him alone. However it would have appeared that the man knew no meanings of the words "personal space" and lacked the social graces to learn. The blond closed the gap without even thinking.

"I haven't been on a train in almost a year! No wait. Over a year? Have the doors always been that quick to close? I feel like their timers are faster now, I mean I had to run just to make it on board in time and I was right there!" He pointed out the window, his arm no less than an inch from the Tabaxi's nose. "That's just insane! How is anyone supposed to be able to do that? Don't they know that disabled people use the train too? Did they ever think about them? That couldn't have been enough time for someone in a wheelchair or on crutches supposed to get on board that's all I'm saying." And then he proceeded to say more. Much much more.

The Tabaxi glanced towards Velrisa with this wide eyed expression. She had to dig her nails in to the palm of her hand not to laugh at it. As much as she'd love to help she was far more entertained watching and she was just glad that the man had chosen to speak with the Tabaxi instead of her.


	4. Four Train doors

He'd forgotten how quickly it got dark this time of year. At first he thought it was the collection of clouds that had been hanging around. They'd vanished from his view upon stepping onto the train and had yet to reappear save for some little tufts of white here and there. It was still summer, the gross humid heat told him that much, though that was the only indication of the season left. With August nearing its end, the sun had taken to retiring before eight pm. It was annoying. And yet to be expected. 

It seemed that the wharf would get darker somehow compared to the rest of the cities he'd been in. He wasn't sure if it was because of the factory smog, the towering dark buildings, or the sea side fog and mist. All he knew was that it was too early for it to be as dark as it was. He squinted out the windows, not at all paying attention to the overhead voice announcing the next stop. He didn't know street names despite having grown up with them, they weren't needed anyway. He knew the landmarks well enough. 

The Tabaxi besides him furrowed his brow. He had his ruined map out in front of him and was doing his best to read the tiny and poorly printed font in the dark train. The woman across from them kept herself busy with her phone, she too had tuned out the stop announcements, having decided to just get off randomly and without putting any further thought into it. 

Br'aad grinned, once again pointing out the window, "See that building there? It's the dog food factory! It makes this entire road smell like ass for miles!" The cat begrudgingly glanced to see what the Br'aad meant. 

"Yeah...that's great." It was just some ugly building. Just like every single other building Br'aad had pointed out. 

"I used to think that was where Batman lived."

"That's nice- wait batman?"

"Look at it! It's all spooky and gloomy."

"It's...a normal building?"

"Well it scared me as a kid and I just assumed that batman would live in a big scary building and that was it! And my brother just let me think that until I was twelve. Every time we passed it he'd tell me to wave to batman so he wouldn't beat us up."

Taxi slowly lowered his map, having temporarily and completely forgotten about how terribly lost he was . He stared at Br'aad. He chose his next words very very carefully.

"Why would….why would batman...beat you up?"

"Because we were bad." It was startling how fast he answered and how nonchalantly. "We would take things out of stores without paying and sometimes out of people's pockets. And Sylnan said that batman beats up criminals, and that thieves were criminals, and we were thieves, so we had to wave to batman so he'd think that we were just two normal kids and then he wouldn't beat us up."

Velrisa pulled her phone up a little to hide the fact that she was laughing. She'd been stuck on this train with these two for the better part of an hour now and they'd managed to get her to crack a smile ten times as often as any of her friends back home ever did. 

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. And one day he did-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"-Only it wasn't batman but Sylnan's friend wearing all black and a blanket as a cape. And he didn't actually beat us up, he scared me and pretended to beat up Sylnan."

"Ok. Why?" He had to stop. He had to stop asking this man questions because all it did was make him want to ask more questions. And yet he couldn't help himself. Every word out of this man's mouth was more wild than the last. He had to know more!

"Because we were bad! We- I asked Sylnan if I could have a toy and he said no, we don't have fucking toy money right now, so I asked him why we couldn't just take it out of the package and hide it in his hoodie pocket with everything else. So he had his friend pretend to be batman to beat us up so that I'd be more careful with what I said out in public."

It didn't work, Taxi thought to himself, almost spitting it out loud. He shot a look over towards the woman, who was still hidden behind her phone chuckling. It was clear in the bouncing of her shoulders that she'd had the same thought. He cleared his throat, blinking the past conversation away. 

"So you know this place pretty well then?"

"Yeah I guess so. They haven't really changed much. I mean there used to be a subway over there next to what used to be the Walmart. I was banned from both so fuck 'em! Oh! And that's Lauck Lambert High school, they were my school's rivals. We spray painted dicks on their parking lot right before the first day of school. They stuffed us freshman in our mascot's costume and shot at us with T-shirt cannons that their robotics team made. And if you head down that road you'll find the docs."

Taxi set aside his map and turned to face Br'aad directly. "Oh good! So where is the library?"

Br'aad stared at Taxi, waiting for more of that sentance to come out because what the fuck was he supposed to do with 'where is the library'? Like did this guy really decide to leave the clean safety of the city, which was littered with libraries due to the sheer numbers of colleges and universities absolutely everywhere, just to wander all the way down to what was easily the bad part of town, like the easily worst part of town, for a fucking library? Just a library? 

"Uh…." He looked to Velrisa for help, she offered none, merely entertained by all that was happening. "There's one off of Illiff?"

"No? It's the...it's...there's two stories and it's mostly windows? It's supposed to be next to a skate park and...an Arby's?"

"Oh! Yeah that one closed four years ago."

"But the building is still there?"

"Yeah, no one's bought the lot yet and it's not exactly-"

"I need to get there."

Br'aad leaned back in his seat with a soft laugh, "You're heading in the wrong way. You needed to get off over at 76th street and get on the D line headed south." 

"Fuck!"

Br'aad shot Velrisa a hesitant glance, "There are….other libraries? Open ones even."

The Tabaxi put his head in his hands. He'd studied his map for hours! He'd circled his stops and had at no point taken his attention away from the overhead announcer. How did he miss his stop? How did he manage to make it all the way over here with next to no problem just to fuck it all up at the last mile and a half? 

"Where am I now?"

"The Wharf?"

"No! I mean-!" He placed his pointer fingers against his lips and exhaled heavily through his nose. He gave the woman across from him a single, pleading look. For the first time during their trip, she put down her phone and sat up, her attention all theirs and theirs alone. 

"You know The Wharf fairly well then, right?" She asked Br'aad who was quick to nod his answer. There was a flash of worry in the cat's eyes. She pretended not to notice. "Do you have anywhere you need to be right away?"

Br'aad was quiet for a second, which startled the Tabaxi as this was the first time this stranger had been silent for more than a second.

Truth of the matter was Br'aad was still hesitant on returning to the wharf. He'd nearly gotten off eight separate times within the past hour. The only thing grounding him to the train car was this very lost cat who had yet to ask him to shut up. 

This morning he'd awoken to the sound of the shower running in the next room over. Several bottles fell, hitting the floor louder than anything he'd ever heard and for a second he could have sworn he heard an all too familiar voice curse at the startling sound. That's all it took. He sat up quickly, wincing at the pop his back made. He'd been sleeping on this air mattress for nearly a year now and still his body protested it as though he were ever actually accustomed to sleeping in a real bed. He didn't even think, he just moved, from the oversized closet he'd called a room for so long towards the kitchen where the laptop lay out on the counter. Almost as if he were possessed, his hands flew across the keyboard, pulling up the train times and bus routes. It was an impulse, wild and livid in the back of his head. He was unable to sit still without feeling it clawing away at his thoughts. His breakfast was ash upon his tongue, his movements slowed, he was ripping himself apart. Before he could stop and actually think about it, he'd grabbed his wallet, threw on his good shoes, and disappeared out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind him. 

He was headed home. At long last.

He needed to go back, even if only to convince him to stay the hell away. It wasn't until he'd snuck on to the train that his mind returned to him. The first free thoughts he had were simple: this was a bad idea. What was the plan here? What was he hoping to accomplish? 

He wanted to see his brother again.

Does Sylnan want to see him? Had he thought about him even once over this past year? Was he happy now that Br'aad was gone? We're things easier? Would Br'aad's sudden and unannounced return only drive the wedge between them further? Was he making a mistake going home again? 

He had no answers. No good ones. Doubt had slaughtered hope and in the collection of it's bones grew fear. Still he remained in his seat, still his eyes watched the streets of his childhood pass him by, and still he was headed home. 

He stared out the window, past the Target on his left and the used car lot that sat behind it. "No." He answered at last. "I don't."

Perhaps this was what he needed, a distraction. A little more time. his reason to stay away. He would not touch the tiger of going back home, but rather look longingly through the glass and hope to whatever god was listening that it would be enough. 

"Well then," she continued glancing back at the cat, "We have in our midst one lost gentleman, a woman looking to explore, and a man well acquainted with the area. Would you be willing to be our guide? Just for a bit at least?"

This, she decided with a growing excitement, would be her trouble. She could already tell. 

He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. All roads would eventually lead back to South Zuni Street. He could practically already see it. There'd be a tree growing on its side, knocked over by a harsh windstorm but neither uprooted or broken, now growing along the length of the ground instead of towards the sky. It hid the tiny little house besides an empty dirt lot. The building would have one intact window, the others all well and hidden behind plywood and whatever tape they could find at the time. Colors made the thing unsightly but charming all at the same time. That had been how Sylnan had made it theirs and theirs alone. They'd spent an entire day slathering the horrid little house in paint. Though admittedly most of the paint wound up on them instead. Dirt and grime had since then washed over their scribbles. A reflection of the neglect that the boys themselves had endured. And their red door that was missing the door knocker. In the winter the wood would swell to the point that they wouldn't be able to open it. One year they'd tried to leave it open just a crack. Br'aad had never been so sick as he was that month. For a while there, he was worried that he'd die. Sylnan worried too. Now no matter how cold it got, that door stayed shut during the winter. If they needed to leave, they went through the window. 

He supposed there were worse places to call home. He'd once slept in a concrete drain pipe, he would have hated to call that his home. And despite having four walls around him, central heating and air conditioning, access to hot water, and carpet, the two bedroom apartment he currently stayed at was hardly his home. If only for the roommate who'd taken him in. That made him smile a bit. It was hell, that stupid fucking house, but it was the only place he could ever actually call home. That had to have meant something, right? 

Then again that was the problem. He had a home now, a real one. It was a thousand times better than that shit hole in every way. He had to let this old place go. He had to bury it from his mind once and for all. It was time he moved on. 

And that's what this trip would become for him. One last goodbye. And what a wonderful goodbye it would be. 

"I want to stop and grab something to eat first, if that's alright with the two of you," he said. 

Velrisa nodded, leaning back into her seat once more. Taxi was more hesitant. He'd already wasted so much time, did he really want to waste more for food? Then again he had not eaten in some time. Perhaps food would do him good. He begrudgingly nodded his agreement to the proposal. Br'aad grinned broadly.

"That'll be stop number one then."


	5. chapter Five: South Zuni street

There was a kiss at the corner of Sylnan's mouth. It was a faint little thing. Ugarth almost dismissed it at first, a simple trick of the light perhaps. Surely it was a passing shadow. Nothing more than a dimple. Or perhaps it was the haunting whisper of a smile. He couldn't very well name it. It was charming and uniquely his, this kiss. He focused on that, this tiny and insignificant little trait, to keep from running his dumb ass over with his car. 

He was absolutely incensed! He was rattled to the core with an anger so vicious it was on the cusp of violent. His knuckles had turned colors due to the grip in which he kept on his steering wheel. It was an uphill battle to keep his own breathing under control. He was well aware that his anger often got the better of him. Unfortunately, it seemed that Sylnan was incredibly good at making him irrationally angry. 

He supposed it wasn't Sylnan that had pissed him off, but rather the accumulation of many things that Sylnan just so happened to have inadvertently caused. 

Five or so hours ago, Ugarth had been making his rounds in The Black Spot. They'd gotten busy quickly and he'd been forced to manage the doors when the other bouncer started having issues keeping unruly patrons out. A fight broke out. This was normal. These things happen. It was part of the job. He managed it. He didn't even have to get the cops involved this time! As far as fights go, this one wasn't a bad one and it was an exhilarating start to his night. He'd stolen a glance towards Sylnan before he had to step out. He'd been over by the round tables, laughing with a group of six. He'd been fine, maybe a little more intoxicated than either man would have preferred he be, but he was fine! Nineteen minutes later, Ugarth returns inside, the situation handled and dealt with and passed, and Sylnan's nowhere to be found. Not in the bathrooms, not by the bar, not out on the dance floor, not at any of the tables, not bothering the DJ, just gone. 

A thousand terrors ran through Ugarth's mind all at once. He must have gotten caught. Their jig was up. It was time to go and play stupid. Deny deny deny! He'd have someone bail Sylnan out in the morning. He'd find a new job by the docs, they were always hiring heavy lifters for the warehouses. It sucked but it was inevitable. This train of thought stopped when he remembered that the cops weren't there. At least they hadn't been within that twenty minute time frame. He'd likely just gotten himself into another fight then. He's a flirt. It's part of his charm. He could have been caught dancing with the wrong girl again, or spilled a drink on another man. Sylnan did not take kindly to being shoved and hit. Understandably, most people don't. He would have hit back. Yes, Sylnan had simply gotten into another fight. But all other bouncers were accounted for, no other fights were had. That's when Ugarth's heart sank so low he could feel it weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach.

Sylnan hadn't gotten over Kathryn. Despite the lengthy stretch of time it had been since the last time the two had been seen together, Sylnan had remained ever loyal and faithful. He never would have run off with someone. No matter how attractive they may have been, Sylnan still clung to the desperate, and quite honestly tragic, hope that he'd see Kathryn again and refused to cross any lines that could jeopardize their relationship. Which left only the worst to fear for. One bad drink, that's all it took. One drink too many. One drink left unattended. Someone else with an agenda all their own. Gods above, if Sylnan had been taken... 

"He's over at the market running rings," grumbled Tristan an hour after closing only after Ugarth ran to him with panic in his voice and cursing at the twenty three cameras in the building that didn't fucking work. 

For hours Ugarth spent thinking the worst, feeling like shit because he couldn't drop everything and go hunting for the jackass responsible, only to learn that Sylnan dipped without saying anything. For five hours he thought he'd lost a friend. 

Ugarth was pissed. All that worry and terror could have been avoided with one stupid fucking text! Fuck, Ugarth would have settled for an unprofesional wave at the door or something. This had been a very taxing night for him. And upon seeing Sylnan again, alive, ok, and mostly unharmed, it calmed him. Only to piss him off more.

Tonight had been so good! They hadn't been so busy in months! There were half a hundred targets just begging to be robbed with how they kept forgetting themselves. Had he'd not been so busy looking for a ghost, Ugarth very easily could have robbed enough for Tristan, Sylnan, and himself four times over! All of that was gone now, who knows when it would be back, and all the money that they'd make would come from these stupid, fake ass rings! He got, on average, forty dollars for one and on average he sold about 17 a night. That $680 would have easily been made within a single hour over at The Spot. It certainly took far less work!

At The Spot, all Sylnan had to do was stand there and look pretty. Quite literally. That was it! The bimbos and the himbos would flock to him without hesitation nor question. Rings looked exhausting. It required a lot more from Sylnan. No one buys a ring outside of a gas station because it's a good ring, cheap and convenient, no one. They buy them out of pity. 

He had this whole routine. He'd wait until some poor fool came to grab a pack of smokes or fill up their gas tank and approach them with this tremble in his voice and he hesitantly called out, doing everything he could to make himself look small. He'd then weave a quick tale about how his car had broke down about a mile out and he was just mugged, leaving him with no way to pay for the gas he so desperately needed. He'd go on to say that he knew nothing ever came for free so he'd search himself for anything to give in exchange for these measly $40. He'd grow more frantic and anxious until at last his eyes would fall on a ring worn around his finger. Then he'd start to cry and he slipped it past his knuckle and dropped it out onto his open palm. 

And through the tears he'd just about whisper, "This….it isn't much but I…." And he never had to finish that sentence because it worked 100% of the time. Every fucking time! That's what did people in. They'd buy the stupid ring, which was just some cheap steal dipped in a diluted gold coating and falsely stamped, and feel good about themselves. 

Sylnan's face was wet with tears, none of them genuine. He'd at some point stopped wiping them away worried that he'd give himself another rash if he continued on. He looked exhausted. Ugarth sighed, he supposed that alive, tired, and broke was better than the alternative. 

Sylnan hopped into the seat besides him with a lengthy sigh, rummaging around in his pockets for the wad of cash he'd accrued over the passing hours. He forked over a hefty sum of it pocketing the remainder. His head fell back into the headrest and he let out an aggravated groan.

"How was the rest of work?" He asked, just to hear some noise other than the blown out speakers of the truck. 

"Uneventful," Ugarth lied. "And you? Were all the crazy people out and about again?"

"No! It was a surprisingly quiet night. The worst of it was a drunk man who wanted to give me an inspirational speech about being down on my luck, something about brighter days ahead and staring at the sun. I don't know. I wasn't listening. I would like to get as hammered as he was though. Think we can stop at the liquor store?"

"Sylnan, is 3am!"

"And I am sober."

"You are not!"

Sylnan opened his mouth to argue but found he had no grounds to do so and quickly shut it with a knowing grin. He stared ahead of himself for a moment as if lost in thought. Ugarth would argue that he had no thoughts. Which was wrong, Sylnan had one; beg. He tilted his head just a smidge and stared at Ugarth with big, watery eyes and the saddest pout he could muster. Ugarth snapped his attention away from the man. He was well aware how easily he'd bend to the whims of Sylnan and his stupid fucking face. The trick was ignoring it. Unfortunately, much like the younger brother, Sylnan was not one you could simply ignore.

"Oog," he pleaded in a soft voice, "a rum and coke. Some drunk pictionary. I promise I won't start singing this time. Oog. Ugarth. Oogy bear-"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"-I won't even dance! I won't! Ugarth I promise! Please, Oog? I'll cry."

"If I take you, will you shut up?"

Sylnan sat back in his chair with a silent nod. And there it was again, hidden in the corner of his satisfied smile, that kiss. Now Ugarth was certain it wasn't some trick of the light. 

Ugarth laughed at himself, at the predicament that was being friends with this idiot man. This cheeky son of a bitch who liked to show his affection by being the biggest pain in the ass that he could be. He'd take the aux cord out of Ugarth's phone right after the man had found a song he liked and blast Mama Mia just to piss Ugarth off. Sylnan didn't know any of the words save for the very beginning but that didn't stop him from singing along at the top of his lungs anyway. He'd buy those packets of stickers found in the dollar store and throughout the day just add one more bright pink unicorn onto Ugarth's back, desperate to see how many he could add before he was discovered. His record was 92. He'd yoink Ugarth's cigarettes out from his pocket and throw them into the gutters crying, "Oops! Oh uh oh!" while maintaining perfect eye contact. He'd throw things when Ugarth wasn't looking. Nothing hard, wadded up balls of paper mostly, marshmallows when they had them, a pillow depending on where they were. Then he'd sit there and pretend he'd done no such thing with the biggest smile on his face. 

All this to say that just because Sylnan silently promised that he'd be quiet didn't mean he was actually going to be quiet. Ugarth spent the entire ride in tense anticipation for the sudden explosion of sound that his friend would make. But no such noise was made. Sylnan was actually quiet. He leaned against the door, the day's exhaustion rolling over him in waves, weighing heavy on his shoulders but not enough to draw him into any kind of slumber. It had come to Ugarth's attention that the other hadn't been sleeping much at all recently. Those dark circles under his eyes were growing worse with every passing day. He hoped, for Sylnan's sake, that maybe the alcohol would help as the melatonin apparently didn't. 

He was quiet in the store, moving instinctively through the aisles. He hardly had to look at the labels of what he bought, he simply grabbed the bottle that looked the most like whatever the hell he'd enjoyed last time.

He was quiet on the way home too. 

The house on South Zuni Street was not the welcoming sight it was meant to be. Ugarth had seen it in its prime, when the gaudy paint was still bright and vibrant, when there was always laughter and music in the air around it. When the sidewalks were always caked in chalk murals. Back then, even in its shambling state, it had been welcoming. At least it always had been for him. Now it was a standing grave. Both boys knew it. 

Hilltree groaned when the lights flipped on. He glanced at the digital watch he'd tapped up onto the wall in place of any sort of real clock and frowned. 

"You're back late," he grumbped, "Wouldn't have waited for ya if I'd known you were gonna be late. Your food's prolly gone cold now." 

Sylnan looked from his roommate towards the table where a Kids Cuisine™ sat. 

"I ate the pudding." Hilltree said after a moment, negating to mention how he'd also eaten half of the nuggets. 

"I'll order us a pizza in the morning," Ugarth whispered so as not to upset the little goblin who'd meant well. Sylnan whispered his thank you back, leading both into the kitchen and providing them all with a healthy helping of rum.

It didn't take long to the boys to come undone. While Sylnan had vowed not to sing, Hilltree was bound to no such promise, and lay face first on the table, half heartedly singing to himself each and every single song currently stuck in his head all at the same time. 

Sylnan was sat up on the counter top, hunched over uncomfortably beneath the overhanging cupboards. Ugarth was on the floor directly below him, leaning against the table leg fidgeting with the cap of the bottle that Sylnan had thrown. He'd finally remembered not I hand it back, no matter how many times Sylnan held out his hand for it.

"Your birthday's coming up." 

"Who cares?" Sylnan groaned, putting his head into his hands. However cold his hands were, they did nothing to help his headache. Ugarth sat up with a grunt, poking Sylnan in the shin.

"I do. Where do you wanna go to celebrate?"

"I care!" Hilltree slurred though he wasn't entirely sure what it was he was supposed to be caring about. 

"Come on. Where do you want to go?" Sylnan didn't answer, reaching down to swat Ugarth's hand away. Ugarth caught it with ease which made him laugh a little. 

"I don't want to go anywhere-! There's no where to go. I want to stay home and be miserable in peace."

"Sylnan, buddy, I don't know how to tell you, but you deserve at least one good god damn birthday! Wanna go bowling again?" He had to have said these same words hundreds of times before and knew he'd have to say them again next year too. These last few years had not been kind to them on Sylnan's birthday. Last year particularly. 

"Last time we went bowling you got so drunk you had to use the kid's ramp."

"And I bowled a perfect game."

"No you didn't! The guy in the lane next to us did, and you took credit for it!"

Ugarth was quiet, doing his best to remember the night. After a while he nodded. Sylnan was right. He remembered doing that. 

"Bet you I could do it again."

"Pretend you're good at bowling?"

"Fuck you!"

That made Sylnan chuckle a bit. It was a refreshing sound. Ugarth poked him some more, thrilled that Sylnan could do nothing to stop it but squirming to try all the same. He could be irritating too! 

"Ok fine. You don't want to be seen with me in a bowling alley. So what do you want to do? Where do you want to go. Gods above man, throw me a bone! What do you want for your birthday?"

Sylnan tried to lean back, bashing his head into the cupboards again with another wince. He was too tired for this conversation, he didn't particularly care. Not this year. He fought back the urge to kick Ugarth and his pestering pokes. 

"You're going to leave a bruise if you keep that up," he said. 

Ugarth rolled his eyes, switching to the other shin and loosening his grip on Sylnan's wrist and scowling when the boy managed to escape. "We could go dirt biking this year. Maybe set off some fireworks in a field. Throw Hilltree in the sea and see who can fish him out first. Using only….dental floss and….fucking magnets or something."

"How would that even work?"

"Hilltree….swallows the magnets. And we tie our magnets to the floss, and we fish him out. 60% of the time it works 100% of the time."

Sylnan glanced over towards his friend now passed out on the table as though he were genuinely thinking it over. He scrunched his nose. 

"What would the winner get?"

"I don't know dude. A fucking uh pet gold fish."

"Dope, alright yeah I'm in." 

The tone was light hearted, jocular, it was good, but despite being wasted beyond comfort, Ugarth could tell it was off somehow. Like both of them were trying way too hard to make the other happy. They were saying the right words, they were making jokes, and yet neither had gotten where they wanted. Both boys held their tongues for the betterment of the other. And no matter how friendly the atmosphere between them was, it was aggravating. An uncomfortable silence separated them. Ugarth leaned back once more, dropping his hand at last. 

It hurt, a lot, to see his friend in such a state for such a prolonged period of time. First with Kathryn and then again with Br'aad. Hilltree seemed to help a lot. Which baffled Ugarth because he'd only spent only a little bit of time with the tiny man and he already hated him. Those two had a friendship Ugarth simply could not understand. That, or knowing that rather, for reasons Ugarth could not explain, hurt even more somehow. 

No. He knew why. It didn't take a detective to figure that one out. And even while drunk off his ass he still had the sense about himself to be reasonable. 

"Sylnan-" he began but before he could utter another word, a knock at the door shattered the stillness. 

Sylnan slid off the counter with ease, tip toeing around Ugarth's sprawled about limbs and being careful so as not to wake Hilltree. Sylnan grabbed his baseball bat from off the hook. There were three truths he had to face in that moment. One: it was far too late for any sane person to be out and about. Two: this was not a good part of town to be out and about in. Those who were, were often up to no good. And three: as far as everyone knew, save for at most four people, no one lived in this house. Three of those four people were already inside and the fourth was god knows where. 

Ugarth got to his feet as well. Sylnan was a capable man, and armed. He wouldn't need any help. That didn't matter though. He stood behind Sylnan, hand in the door should they find the need to shut it quickly and keep it shut. Sylnan softly counted down from three before throwing the door open. 

The two stared out the door at the blond man before them, smiling sheepishly. Behind him was an exhausted looking woman holding up another, and a very anxious cat who looked as though he was going to faint at any given moment. 

Br'aad shrank away from his brother, "I know it's late and I know….I know this is sudden but you changed your phone number and I couldn't reach you. Can I….can we come in?"


	6. Chapter Six: The library

Summer had always been his favorite. The place would be green and alive and beautiful. He would find himself, clad in only his boxer briefs, standing in their shared kitchen, nursing his fresh cup of coffee and watching as she stepped out onto their patio to water her ferns. The wind would catch in her shawl and tug at her hair, pulling it out if the braid he'd kept it in over night until it cascaded down her spine not too unlike a waterfall. The sight, no matter how frequently he was blessed with it, always took his breath away. If he had half the artistic talents that his mother did, he'd try and perhaps paint it. She'd glance back at him, peering through the blinds and offer a warm smile. All at once he'd feel his heart break at the sight, too overwhelmed to process the feeling properly. He wouldn't be able to speak for an hour. He'd stutter and stammer his way through his sentences in equal parts. Despite his babblings, she always understood him. And that only made him love her all the more. 

Mornings would melt into afternoons and he'd be sat at their piano, his fingers dancing along the keys clumsily. He was unable to read a single note of sheet music, he played it all by ear. How it drove her nuts. She'd drop her notes and dart over, correcting the placement of his hands. He'd keep messing up on purpose just to feel her hands in his. She knew this. And in turn, as he moved on to his own work, she'd suddenly bombard him with questions. Questions he very well didn't have the answers to, he was a simple florist, she was a private investigator, his knowledge of blood trajectory and the differences between human, cat and dog hairs was about as plentiful as her knowledge of how vast the poaceae family was. But this was her game to play with him and he was thrilled all the same to be her star player. 

Afternoons would spiral into evenings and their work days would slow to an end. She would pull him away from his register shortly after his last count of the day and together they would walk, hand in hand back home to curl up on the couch and watch a movie that neither would stay awake for. 

Those summer mornings felt like a lifetime ago. He'd somehow sat back and watched as it time lapsed right past him, moving him against his will, taking her and leaving him alone and stranded.

In a way, he was thankful for the sudden company he was in. The man's endless babbling was a comforting distraction from his worries. The woman's hushed tone was soothing. Taxi was a cluster of nerves that these two had next to no issue calming. Not completely, he feared that could never be done, but enough. 

He supposed he only had himself to blame. It was his fault she was gone. That much was true. No matter how she'd try and explain it, he knew. And he felt stupid for it! Then again…

Looking back in those unfortunate events, this was not at all his fault. He tried so hard to talk her out of it. 

"They haven't caught him in years!" He cried. "Their police are lazy and don't follow protocol. You'll get nowhere, you'll get nothing, nothing but hurt." 

"It pays well!" She said. "I know what I'm doing, I'm not fucking helpless, Green needle."

"I never said you were! I'm just saying that going out there is negligent and stupid-"

"So now I'm neglecful and stupid?"

"That's not what I said! Your actions oriana! You are so smart, so very very smart, which is what makes this decision so stupid!"

She got up from the table, just about throwing her cup of tea into the sink, not caring if it shattered or not. "I was so sure that you, of all people, would understand. Guess I was wrong." Her words hurt much more than she meant them to, she could see it in his face. But she was too worked up to take a step back, and he was too admittedly. 

He stood out on their balcony, arms crossed, tail swishing feverishly, ears down and twitching. He didn't wave and neither did she. She didn't even glance up at him. Not once. 

That first night alone at home was hell on earth. The silence became a noise that not even music or the familiar comforts of a favored movie could smother. He made dinner and stared down puzzled at the two plates he'd gotten down and filled. It was habitual, instinct really, at this point. His body felt uncomfortable wrapping it and setting it away in the fridge. Lunch for tomorrow he supposed. She wouldn't be back any time soon to eat it. She'd be away for weeks, sometimes more than a month. She didn't even give him a rough estimate this time. She just left. 

He should have been more supportive. He'd always been before this case. She'd once hunted down a family annihilator, who'd shot both of his kids and drowned his wife. The local police force had decided he would not come in quietly with orders to shoot on sight as he was still well armed and violent. He'd gone north, hunting now his brother. She found him at the brother's house. The two were seated at the table, a wonderful dinner displayed about them. His plate was just about finished but the brothers hadn't been touched. Probably because his wrists had been tied down to the chair. He'd spotted her first, the brother, and with panicked tears racing down his cheeks he mouthed for help. Which the violent man noticed. He went to strike the younger brother only to be stopped by a taser Orinana never left the house without. This evolved into a gun fight. One that Oriana won without killing the man. Subsequently she'd been wounded. The ambulance almost didn't make it in time. 

With wide eyes and a rapid heart beat pounding away inside his chest, Taxi listened. He listened with baited breath while the woman he loved so dear struggled to gasp for air between short and simple sentences. He was mortified and rightfully so. He said she would be the one to catch the man, and he was right but gods above at what cost. 

Of course he panicked when she said active, violent, uncaught serial killer. Looking through his common victims they were mostly minorities, like him, like her. He feared he'd find her before she could even start looking for him. He knew her history, knew she was good, but didn't know her limits. The last time was bad enough. Of course he'd protest another dangerous job. He'd offered quiet place holders, a thief in the wharf instead, a low brow petty robbery of the elderly at the stoney creek care for the elderly center just out of town. Anything else, hell following a drug dealer would have been safer! But she was stubborn. She wanted this job. There was nothing he could do to stop her. Not anymore. 

Admittedly his heart rose when he first saw Velrisa at the platform. For a few fleeting moments he thought he'd found Oriana. Her company reassured him, kept him focused on why he'd come down to this wretched city. Just looking at her ever now and again while they walked kept him grounded. He couldn't possibly thank her enough for that. 

"And here is the library you so badly wanted to see. Though I'm not sure why, people just use it as a drug house." And the blond pointed towards a stumbling man with a homemade turnaquite still fastened to his arm. 

Taxi glanced down at the sticky note Oriana had left behind in her rush. He felt suddenly sick. Of all the places, she chose this one?

"Do you think anyone inside will even talk with us?"

"Not you, you're too jittery. They won't trust that. That's ok! What do you need from them? Oh cursed by the gods, you're not here to buy drugs are you? Listen this is not the place to get anything good or marginally healthy. I'm pretty sure their crack is 80% baby powder I'm dead certain their weed is mostly oregano and-"

"No, I'm not here to buy drugs!"

"Oh thank the gods. I mean if you wanted good drugs just ask the south side cops. They'll give you the good stuff for a favor."

Velrisa stopped dead in her tracks, tilting her head over towards Br'aad, visibly confused. "What...kind of favor?"

"That depends on the cop. Usually officer Ceumosky wants you to get information on another person. But officer Spiggets? Usually sex." 

Maybe, thought Velrisa, I have made a mistake.

"Officer Nibie is the best though, the only favors he asks of you is to first create a safety plan and to do them in a safe, preferably not public, place."

"Why do you know all this?" Taxi asked just a moment before Velrisa could. 

"I asked for an aspirin and officer Nibie told me the whole ordeal because he misheard me. I guess he only heard the 'in' part because he tried to give me heroin and then I was confused because it was not a little blue capsule. Now I just get weed from him. Oh, if we meet up with my brother you can't tell him that." 

The two walking with him stared for a bit, slowly glancing towards the other. Neither of them were thinking what the other was. Both were, regardless, convinced that they were on the same page.

"Right," Taxi hesitated, pausing for a lengthy amount of time, "Well I just need to know if they've seen a specific person."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Br'aad lied. 

That eased Taxi's mind if only a little bit. He took a deep breath before leading the three through a busted door and out into a small hallway with large fire exit signs that no longer glowed. Instantaneously they were met face to face with a large sum of people. More than most didn't even look up. People came and went so often there was no point. Taxi glanced nervously from face to face struggling to determine who would be friendly enough to talk to. He settled on a woman seated in a beat up lounging chair rolling a blunt. She stopped briefly and cursed, throwing the weed aside with a frown. 

"Uh, excuse me?" His voice was too soft to be heard. Despite this she slowly looked up and scowled at the sudden company.

"Who sent you? Was it Ceumosky? Timperman? Well tell em you found me passed out in a ditch."

"N-no, no one sent us I was just- well see I'm actually looking for….a dear….friend of mine and hoping you might have seen her around uh here maybe?"

The woman held out her swollen hand expectantly. Taxi stared down and tentatively tried to shake it only for her to slap him away. 

"Information like that is never free."

Before Taxi had the time to fumbled about for his wallet, Br'aad stepped in, setting down his rolled up baggie of weed in her palm. Quickly she swiped it away, opened it, and grinned.

"Alrighty. Describe her?"

It was interesting, Taxi thought, how pleased this woman looked and how furious Br'aad did. "You owe me." Was all the blond whispered. 

"She's uh, she looks like her, but her horns are straight and curl back, and she's a bit more pink and her hair is a lot longer. She would have been noticeably armed."

"Yeah I've seen her. She came by looking for a friend of hers and left. Gave me a pretty little bracelet for payment."

Br'aad glanced down at his own hand made up in rings and sighed. They were all fake, some of Sylnan's best. No tarnish, no green skin. Fake as all hell but good enough to fool the acid tests at pawn shops. He could have easily given at least one of those away instead. But no! He gave away his good weed. Like an idiot! 

Taxi thanked the woman, bowing just a bit. Velrisa whispered a quick complement about the woman's hair before leading the three back out the same away they came. Both Br'aad were mad about how those events had turned out. Taxi was mad because this didn't give him any sort of a lead at all as to finding Oriana again. Br'aad had already forgotten why he was mad but knew he was mad so mad he stayed. 

"I think people at common hot spots might be your next best guess," Velrisa stated, waiting patiently for her guide to catch up and resume his guiding. Br'aad stopped too, unaware of what was happening.

"I doubt that. She tries not to be seen by the general public."

"But she was seen in a drug not spot," she argued back quickly. Br'aad nodded looking at Velrisa with approval. Her logic was sound. He turned to Taxi to nod at him only to see the biggest frown a cat can muster and so he quickly began to shake his head no. 

"I think it's at least worth a shot."

Taxi groaned at the thought but he had nothing else better to suggest. It must be done, he supposed. 

And thus began his wild goose hunt. From shopping mall to grocery store they went until the hour grew late and the three became exhausted. Br'aad didn't mind it. He was able to avoid that house up on South Zuni street. His problems didn't need to be faced for at least one more day. Velrisa too didn't mind as she knew that once she laid down for bed, she'd fall fast asleep and stay asleep. She just had to find a place to stay. Taxi did mind, unlike the other two he was traveling with. It had been so long, with tomorrow rapidly approaching over the horizon line. Surely he'd be too tired to continue his search tomorrow  
Not like that mattered, he was still stuck at the starting line. As much as he hated to admit it, at the starring line was where he was doomed to stay.

Now gunshots were not unusual in the wharf. Infact, they were just as common as car horns blaring in Newyork. Br'aad having grown up around so much gunfire, didn't even notice it. The other two stopped in their tracks, panicked and desperately trying to figure out which direction it had come from and how far away it was. 

The scream following it shortly there after made every head snap to the left. Br'aad stopped walking then. He was startled when Taxi took off running in that direction.

"He's going to get himself killed," he mumbled to Velrisa who nodded. And with that, both took off sprinting in a desperate but futile attempt to catch up.

Standing approximately seven feet tall, perhaps only an inch or two shorter, was a beast of a man with blocky shoulders. Dark, thin hair dangled off his head in ratty patches covering his face, rolling down his back, sprawled about those shoulders. Through a small gap glowed one yellow eye. A wicked grin all but tore. His teeth were yellow too. His hand clutched a blade, long, jagged, rusted, and chipped, but sharper than a tungsten needle. The thing was soaked, from tip to the hilt with blood. Over his broad shoulders he held a woman, noticably unconscious, her gun now in the ground at the man's feet.

He locked eyes with Taxi, who'd arrived first, with hunger in his eyes. He dropped the woman and darted towards the cat with a startling speed. Taxi couldn't move not while Oriana was close and hurt. That was sentancing her to death. Just as staying put was putting himself in equal amounts of danger. He was paralyzed, caught in this conundrum. It was by luck and by chance that the other two he'd been traveling with caught up. 

There was a flash of smoke thick and oddly purple, paired with a ground shaking crash as Velrisa had managed to tip a dumpster on the ground while Br'aad had pulled the pins from three of his smoke bombs that he bought for Halloween. 

Br'aad stood brave before the mad man craving violence, making sure to keep himself between him and taxi. Velrisa darted past them all to hoist the woman up, being careful not to disturb the wound beyond holding her in a way to put pressure over the bleeding areas. She rushed to be back to the others, grabbing Taxi by his collar to urge him to run. Ultimately it was Br'aad who got him to run and only because he'd caught Taxi's wrist and he sprinted past. 

Once again it was Br'aad in the lead, running at a pace that poor Velrisa could keep up with carrying the wounded other teifling. He never let go of Taxi, for fear that the man would stray too far behind in his shocked state.

He had no idea where he was headed, he didn't pay attention to landmarks or street signs, he just ran. Panicked feet remembered a familiar path, making the choice up before Br'aad could even register it. He never gave a single thought to where they'd lead him. Pointed shadows rose and fell with the passing street lamps until a quiet and deserted part of town swallowed the four in complete blackness. Br'aad slowed down, talking with Velrisa to ensure she was still behind him, terrified beyond reason that should he look back and check that she'd be gone. Like some magic only the god of the underworld could conjure. 

At last his feet stopped. He could feel the fleeting pain on his knuckles though couldn't figure out where the pain had come from. Not until his eyes focused. A red door without a knocker stared back at him. He could hear movement beyond it. Quiet sounds, soft speaking. Of course he'd wind up here, right back where he began, the place he'd left behind. Back again at South Zuni street. 

A taller man, haunted by exhaustion,hair messed about and falling over his face in fun tangles, answered the door. He kept his baseball bat in clear view, their only form of house defense. It was all they ever needed. People saw the nails and got scared. 

Quickly he made up a lie.

"I know it's late and I know….I know this is sudden but you changed your phone number and I couldn't reach you. Can I….can we come in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I just got out of the hospital, I haven't had much time to edit this one. I hope above all hope that it's readable. Thank ye and may a day of rest soon come to you

**Author's Note:**

> Ayooo I'm finally writing murder mysteries again! That said...  
> There will be less than savory depictions of violence and mild to moderate amounts of gore. Unfortunately, it is my element. I didn't bust my ass in AP anatomy for nothing.
> 
> Please let me know if I need to add a tag or a warning. I don't get too terribly graphic. I'd say more artsy than anything. But still. 
> 
> No sex will be had! It'll be hinted at but never explicitly written or described. Or implied. 
> 
> Ok there are my warnings out of the way. I am very excited about this one because I'm getting back to my roots. So I will try my hardest to stick to a schedual and actually complete it. A chapter will be posted every Thursday starting September 3rd. There may or may not be a hiatus come November however. 
> 
> Ok that's all I have to say for now. Thank you all for stopping by and giving this a shot, I appreciate it as always. I hope that the passing days bring you wellness and strength. -bugs


End file.
